


Five Times Mark Beaks and Gyro Gearloose Faced-Off In Battle (And One Time They Didn't)

by Mr_Pinniped



Series: Wildly Misunderstood [1]
Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Canon-typical shenanigans, Comedy, Competition, Enemies to Friends, Gen, Petty Nonsense, Rivalry, Two nerds trying to one-up each other, very light shipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:42:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27911716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mr_Pinniped/pseuds/Mr_Pinniped
Summary: "Where the hell were you today?  I had to fight Launchpad!"“There was all sort of extra goings-on at the Bin today due to Mr McDuck's bet with Mr. Glomgold, so I left to avoid any cockamamie schemes or petty nonsense.  But it seems the petty nonsense came to me instead.”After the events of Glomtales, Mark Beaks is still determined to best Gyro in battle.
Relationships: Huey Duck & Violet Sabrewing, José Carioca & Donald Duck & Panchito Pistoles, Mark Beaks & Gyro Gearloose, Mark Beaks/Gyro Gearloose
Series: Wildly Misunderstood [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2043871
Comments: 1
Kudos: 18





	Five Times Mark Beaks and Gyro Gearloose Faced-Off In Battle (And One Time They Didn't)

The first time Mark Beaks was to face Gyro Gearloose in battle, Gyro wasn’t even there.

“Where the hell _were_ you today?” Mark had checked the lab, the Money Bin boardroom, and Gyro’s apartment building before he finally found Gyro, sitting in Starducks, cool as you please, hunched over his laptop with his boringly predictable large drip coffee with no cream and one sugar gently steaming as he worked. One of Gyro’s interns, the creepy horse-thing with a stone bust of Scrooge Mcduck for a head, was seated across from him. It was rearranging some papers in a three-ring binder, and also had a mostly-empty coffee cup and a mostly-eaten sandwich next to it. Mark decided he would prefer not to know _how_ exactly, the horse-thing was able to eat.

Gyro looked up, slightly irritated. “What are you on about, Beaks?”

“Uh, the big showdown? Scrooge versus Glomgold? Beakley versus Ma Beagle? Me versus you? I had to fight _Launchpad!_ He’s huge!”

Gyro adjusted his glasses and stared up at Mark, confused. “Why did you fight Launchpad?”

Mark rolled his eyes. “Because Don Karnage wanted to fight the blue kid, duh.”

“I don’t see what any of that has to do with _me,_ ” Gyro said, stirring his coffee with a straw before taking a sip. “I take it Mr. McDuck and Mr. Glomgold settled their bet, then? There was all sort of extra goings-on at the Bin today, so I came to work here to avoid any cockamamie schemes or petty nonsense.” He sighed and regarded Mark over the rims of his glasses.. “But it seems the petty nonsense came to _me_ instead.”

“I’m not petty!” Mark half-shrieked. Gyro raised an eyebrow at him. “I just wanted to prove that I’m not a weak, non-threatening hack! Maybe even be part of a family that appreciated me for once! I was supposed to prove that my technology is DA BEST! Pew-pew-pew-pew!”

Gyro shared an exasperated glance with the horse-thing. How did it manage to be so expressive? Its head was a statue! “‘Da best?’ Half of your technology is ‘modelled’ after mine! How many times have you taken _my_ blueprints?”

Mark leaned down over the table, putting his face close to Gyro’s, watching the chicken’s eyes cross slightly to focus on him. “That’s what makes mine better, Gearhead! It’s your stuff, but _improved!_ ” He then stood upright again, placed his feet together and extended his arms straight out to his sides.

“What are you doing now?”

“T-posing to assert dominance!” Mark’s eyebrows lowered dangerously. “I’ll bet you can’t hold the pose as long as I can.”

Gyro rolled his eyes and went back to his laptop. He typed a few numbers, but then his fingers froze over the keyboard, and he slowly looked up again. “What sort of bet?”

“If you lose, you have to say that my tech is better. If I win--"

"You're not getting me that easily."

"Fine. If I lose, I’ll admit you’re the superior scientist.”

Gyro half-stood up, then sat down again. “That’s stupid. How is holding our arms out to the side supposed to be in any way indicative of superior intellectual prowess?”

Mark lowered his arms for a moment. “Ok, how about this? Let’s prove who’s better at everything. A true Renaissance man, y’know? Physical, mental, and artistic contests. Let’s say… best 3 out of 5?”

“That sounds like a waste of time…” but there was a hesitancy in Gyro’s tone. Mark grinned. He knew full well that he was being manipulative, but hey, after the day he’d had, he deserved to niggle his rival a bit. And he could tell there was no way Gyro could resist the opportunity to beat Mark in not just one way, but five.

“Hold the T-pose for longer, and I’ll forfeit the rest of the contest. You get back to work, and I’ll stop bothering you.”

This time, Gyro closed his laptop and stepped away from the table. “You’re on!” He stood facing Mark, and as one, they extended their arms. Lil Bulb hopped off of Gyro’s shoulder and went to sit on Manny instead.

 **What is even happening here?** Manny tapped out with a hoof in Morse code.

 **He’s competitive.** Lil Bulb blinked back with a shrug. 

Mark and Gyro were frozen on the spot, glaring at each other, arms held completely still. 

“You’re such a spaghetti noodle, Gyro. You really think you’re stronger than me?”

“What? We have the same body type!”

“Ah, but I had to play sports as a kid. I’ve got shoulders of steel!” The door to the Starducks opened, and another customer came in. Mark glanced behind him, and his arms very nearly dropped. It was Falcon Graves. That was probably the last person Mark wanted to see right now. No, second-to-last. His mother would have been worse. Falcon gave the two of them one distasteful glance, then stiffly looked away and resolutely went to the barista to place his order. Mark glared back at Gyro. The chicken hadn’t seemed to notice or care that Falcon had come in, and was gazing, somewhat unfocused, at Mark’s shoulder. Falcon had his tea now, and was doubtless looking for a table as far away as possible from his boss’s undignified shenanigans. 

Mark decided not to let him get away. “Gravesy, help me out here!”

The security guard groaned and adjusted his tie, walking over to them. “Mr. Beaks, I’ve told you before that ‘T-posing’ is not a useful way of ‘asserting dominance.’”

“Aww, come on! You could at least help train me up for the rest of the contest!”

“Mr. Beaks, I am currently off-duty. Therefore, I bear no responsibility for whatever competitive activities you choose to engage in with Mr. Gearloose.”

“Hey! It’s _Doctor_ Gearloose!” Gyro snapped. His arms were definitely trembling now. Mark smirked. He wasn’t even feeling a burn yet. 

“You’re on duty tomorrow, though,” Mark glanced up at Falcon. “For the Waddle Watch 2.2 product launch?”

Falcon sipped his tea and did not respond.

Gyro finally dropped his arms, then rubbed at his sore shoulders. The man-horse stood up behind him. It was hard to tell, but the stony face seemed to be watching Falcon. 

“All right, Beaks, you win this T-pose nonsense. When do you propose to prove my superiority in every other way?”

“Big words for a man who just LOST the first contest! Pew-pew-pew-pew!” Mark smirked, then reached into his pocket and checked the calendar on his phone. “Hmm, I’m free next Saturday. You?”

“Fine. See you then.”

* * *

The second time Mark Beaks was to face Gyro Gearloose in battle, he first solicited help from Falcon Graves.

“All right, Gravesey. You’re on duty now, which means you have to do what I say.” Mark hoisted himself onto his desk so that he was eye-to-eye with his much taller security guard.

“That is _not_ in my contract.” Falcon said sternly.

“Aww, come on! You’re the one who always saying I should work out more! Besides, we can do a sick training montage!”

“A ‘sick training montage’ is not a legitimate method of preparing for physical trials.”

“I’ll pay you extra.”

Falcon gave a long, slow sigh. “Fine.” Mark grinned triumphantly. Once a mercenary, always a mercenary. Now he just had to make sure that Falcon didn't find out that an 11-year-old kid technically owned Waddle now. At least, not before Saturday.

Gyro, too, had gotten training help. 

“A friend of Donald’s is a friend of mine!” Storkules said, “And that is why I will help you, Doctor Gyro Gearloose, prepare for this most epic of contests! To prove that you truly are the technological hero of Duckberg!”

Gyro had appreciated the encouraging words, and he had found the physical training surprisingly helpful, but he was having second thoughts about allowing his coach to insist that he dress in a toga and sandals. The two of them had gotten some odd looks walking across Waddle’s campus to the athletics field where this first contest was to take place. 

Mark, too, was staring at Gyro’s outfit, but not for the reason Gyro suspected. He’d never seen Gyro without trousers before, but in that toga, Mark couldn’t help but notice that Gyro had nice legs. Like, _really_ nice legs. Mark had been around enough fashion models in his youth that he fancied himself a pretty good judge of these things, and _dang._ He shook his head. This was no time to be distracted by astonishingly perfect calves. “Pre-race selfie!” He wrapped an arm around Gyro's shoulders, knocking the golden circlet that Stokules had put in Gyro’s hair askew, and snapped the picture. 

“Now, as the two of you have agreed, by the hallowed creed of the electronic-mails you exchanged earlier this week, that this first competition was to be a physical one. A simple footrace, once around the track of the Waddle athletic field, and the first man to cross the finish line wins.” Storkules announced, standing on the sidelines and looking excited. 

Falcon was standing stock-still beside him, staring into the middle distance and looking quite annoyed. 

“Wish me luck, Gravesy!” 

Falcon just glared at him. “You do realize I’m missing my niece’s piano recital for this.”

Mark nearly dropped his phone. “Since when do you have--” but he was interrupted by Storkules.

“Best of luck to both of you, and may the best man win!” Storkules waved a flag, and Mark and Gyro started to run.

Both had slowed down, seriously winded, by the time they were halfway around the track. 

“Don’t- do- this- much…” Gyro panted, 

“I’m- still- going- to- win-” Mark pulled a phone from his hoodie pocket and hit a button. A series of hurdles appeared in Gyro’s lane. He nearly tripped on one, but dodged and moved to the other lane. Mark tapped another button and several banana peels shot out of a trash can in the stands, landing in front of Gyro. One landed on his head, but he somehow managed not to trip.

“Stop! That is highly dishonorable behavior!” Storkules voice rang out across the field. 

“I’ll show you dishonorable!” And Falcon, who had apparently been pushed to his breaking point, threw a punch at Storkules. Mark and Gyro both stopped running to watch. Storkules dodged the first punch easily.

“Do you challenge me to a bout of fisticuffs, sir?”

“I challenge you to stop being an insufferable fool!”

Mark stopped running and switched his phone to camera mode. . 

Gyro came up behind him and glanced over his shoulder. “Are you livestreaming this?”

“Heck yeah! It’s already viral! Pew-pew-pew-pew!”

* * *

The third time Mark Beaks was to face Gyro Gearloose in battle, no winner was declared. 

“I don’t know how to call this one,” Panchito Pistoles said, from his seat on the sofa of the private karaoke room Mark had rented for the occasion. “You’re both really terrible singers.” 

“Worse voices than Donald, even,” Jose Carioca agreed.

“Hey!” Donald squawked.

“I mean that in the friendliest way possible,” Jose gave Donald’s shoulder a playful shove. “At least your guitar playing is good.”

“Please say I don’t have to listen to them attempt the guitar as well,” Panchito’s head flopped onto the couch-cushions.

“I think we’re done here.” 

* * *

The fourth time Mark Beaks faced Gyro Gearloose in battle, Mark finally won. Sure, it was on a technicality, but he _did_ win. 

They had decided to have a robo-rally, using the rules for a standard Woodchuck Robotics Badge competition. Launchpad McQuack, as the local Woodchuck Guide, had volunteered to judge, assisted by Huey Duck and Violet Sabrewing. The task was relatively simple. Huey and Violet had built a large maze, with a single lit candle in the middle. The robots, both built only from materials on a standardized supply list, would enter the maze at the same time, and the first to successfully reach the center and extinguish the candle would be declared the winner. 

Gyro had built a complex-looking device, with treaded wheels, a laser-guided heat sensor, and several blinking lights. Mark’s device looked like a large box with a lever sticking out of it. 

“All right, contestants. When I count to three, you may start your robots, then step back behind the yellow line. Remember, a 10-second penalty will be added to your time if either of your robots causes damage to the physical maze structure. 

“No problem.” Mark had a sly grin, and Gyro was watching him uneasily.

Launchpad said “Go!” and Gyro tapped the power button, sending his robot rolling into the maze. Mark, meanwhile, lazily pulled the lever, and his box sprang open. A large block of dry ice slid into the maze, and began to skitter across the tiled floor. As the ice cleared the ramp, the metallic plane sprang upwards, releasing a cascade of warm water from a second compartment within the box. In moments, the entire maze was filled with fog and the candle extinguished. 

“Six seconds.” said Huey, holding up his stopwatch. “Mark Beaks is the winner.” 

Gyro’s entry, meanwhile, was spinning sadly as it attempted to navigate around the water that Mark’s creation had spilled on the floor. One red light on the top started blinking. “That can’t possibly be allowed.”

Violet opened her Guidebook. “Both water and carbon dioxide are approved propellants, according to the supply list.”

Huey looked over her shoulder. “The candle can be extinguished by any means, as long as it is not damaged in any way, nor touched by any participant.” 

“Seriously? He had to break _some_ sort of rules with that.”

“No, it really looks like he didn’t actually break any rules. Sorry, Dr. G.” Launchpad shrugged and put a hand on Gyro’s shoulder. 

Gyro crossed his arms. “Well, it’s against the spirit of the thing.” Gyro’s robot, still spinning in the center of the maze, was starting to smoke slightly, but contestants and judges ignored it, gathering around the Junior Woodchuck Guidebook. 

“Hmm,” Huey mused, still peering over Violet’s shoulder. “It is within JW policy to occasionally break the letter of the rules to preserve the spirit.”

“I don’t think it is against the spirit, though. Mr. Beaks’ entry shows ingenuity and creative-problem solving skills.”

The robot, now forgotten, began spinning faster. It began to emit a soft, high-pitched whine.

“Did you hear that, Gyro? I have ingenuity and creative-problem solving skills! I like this kid, she should judge the next one, too!” 

Gyro’s robot exploded. 

* * *

The fifth time Mark Beaks was to face Gyro Gearloose in battle, it was on the chess board. Mark tried some unusual plays, he tried to distract his opponent, he even tried to hide extra pieces up his sleeve, but Gyro was too good. Every move was perfectly thought-out, logical, methodical. Every sacrifice made sense. And Mark couldn’t get away with any shenanigans under Emily Quackfaster’s watchful eye. 

“We’re tied.” Gyro sounded irritated. “One point each, and two attempts with no winner.”

“I’ll win the next one. Or you could just give up.” 

“In your dreams, Beaks.”

“See you next weekend, Gearloose.”

* * *

The final time Mark Beaks was to face Gyro Gearloose in battle was delayed by an alien invasion. He visited the lab, a couple of days later, to find the inventor hunched over his desk, twirling a pencil in one hand, and staring blankly at an empty spreadsheet. Neither the Gizmo-guy nor the horse-thing were there; Gyro only had one of his curious little lightbulbs for company.

“Gyro? You ok?” Mark spoke softly, trying not to startle him- he wasn’t sure Gyro had even heard him come in through the door.

Gyro spun his chair to face Mark, leaned back, and sighed. “I just watched several of my own clones get vaporized by hostile space aliens. So yeah, totally fine. Just peachy. How’d your alien invasion go?”

“Y’know, I thought it was fun at first. I mean, it was aliens! From space! It was cool, right? But then the guards managed to disable all of my devices, and I got locked in a ship with a bunch of other people- I’m not sure what they were planning to do with us. We were in there for… a while. And then the doors opened and it was over.” Gyro pointed to one of the stools by his workbench and Mark sat down.

“Anyway, I know we originally scheduled today for the final round, but--”

“This whole contest thing feels a bit stupid, after everything that happened. I think we could both put out energy towards the great good of the world, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I getcha. I’ve been thinking about getting into green tech, myself. Maybe build a waste management robot. Or a sustainable energy source.”

Gyro scoffed. “You won’t beat me to sustainable energy. Mr. McDuck and the Board of Directors already approved my upgrades to the city energy grid. We’ll be installing them next week.” He paused. “Not that I’m proposing another challenge or anything.”

Mark tapped a button on his phone, and a ghostly hand reached out from the screen. He extended it towards Gyro. “Truce?”

“What is that?”

“Oh come on, you know what a truce is.”

“No, I meant the hand.” Gyro reached out and prodded the silvery hand. It grasped his fingers, and he stared at it in wonderment. “It’s projected light, but it feels… almost solid. How’d you do that?”

“The high-five app is a Waddle trade secret, I’m afraid. But if you’re really smarter than me, I bet you can figure it out.” Mark winked. 

Gyro reached out to shake hands with the projection, but Mark suddenly pocketed the phone and reached out his own hand instead. 

“You know what? You’ve proven yourself to be a worthy rival. You deserve a real handshake.” 

“Um… thanks?” Gyro reached out and clasped Mark’s hand in his own. A hint of a smile crossed both of their faces.

“Truce accepted.”


End file.
